


A Dream Forgotten

by chaoz



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Memory Loss, Podfic Welcome, Post-Series, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28359582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoz/pseuds/chaoz
Summary: It’s 2019. Buffy and Spike have been planning and awaiting their special moment for a while now. Only, Spike has no idea what the Slayer is talking about.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	A Dream Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Every tradition has a beginning and the first time is always something special. However, true to form for Buffy, it just isn’t always the good kind of special.
> 
> This fic was written as an Elysian Fields 2020 Secret Santa gift for incendie.
> 
> Once more efffi2117 (EF) has whipped this story into shape and prevented a minor mental breakdown on account of both romance-deficiencies and lateness. You’re a treat, thank you.
> 
> Do not post this on other sites, it's available on EF, ao3 and ff.net.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

“Spike! Move your pasty butt down here, you’re going to make us miss it!”

At the Slayer’s shout, Spike blinked and found himself naked under a warm waterfall in a spacious shower.

He stepped out from under the torrent of water and shook his head “What the bloody hell?” Hadn’t he just been sitting tied up in the Watcher’s flat, locked in a shouting match with the Slayer? And now he was in a bathroom he’d never seen, showering? He turned off the water and looked around, he saw a towel but none of his clothes so he wrenched the only door into the room open with a snarl only to stagger back as soon as he was a few steps into the room he’d barged in. It was a bedroom, a big bedroom with an enormous bed, with rumpled blood red silk sheets and it smelled like it had been put to spectacularly good use by him and… no, his nose must be clogged. At least the blinds were shut, he felt the sun would rise very soon.

“Spike, how can you be late for something we’ve been waiting to see for the last year?! Come down here already.”

There it was again, the Slayer shouting at him to get a move on. Why was the Slayer calling him to her instead of screaming at him to stay away? Spike spied a black pile on the floor that looked like it could be a pair of hastily discarded jeans of his and picked it up. At least not everything was bananas here. Without drying off he stepped into them and pulled the next door open, a bit more cautiously this time.

It opened to a hallway, not a familiar one but when he drew another breath it still smelled like he had been here before. It smelled comforting, homey. He heard the Slayer mumble about how he could miss something he could feel coming as blaringly loud as she could feel vampires and moved into her general direction. The Slayer was familiar and maybe she could give him some sodding answers.

Still barefoot, he saw the stairs and cautiously walked towards them. He had barely set a foot on the topmost step when the Slayer raced up the stairs, gripped him by the arm and bodily dragged him down. He was too off balance to do anything but keep himself from falling down the long staircase while shouting Oi! a few times. By the time he’d found his balance, he’d been dragged through another room he’d never seen before and shoved down onto a couch in front of a wide, east facing window with the sun about to rise. The Slayer was making moves as if to sit on him to pin him in place but because he could almost feel the first sunrays peeking over the horizon, he managed to get a grip on his strength, shoved her away from him, jumped behind the couch and landed on his back with a loud crash, finally finding his voice again.

“Slayer, are you off your sodding bird? Thought you weren’t gonna dust me!”

He heard her groan and rustle as she picked herself up from the floor where she’d likely landed and take a deep breath. When she walked around the couch to stand next to his feet he got his first real look at her. He let his eyes roam up her form. She was barefoot too, wearing a rather short sheer black dressing gown that left a long expanse of her fit legs exposed. He saw that she had her fists on her hips which gave him a nice view and an inkling that the soft robe was all she was wearing. His eyes had just reached where the lapels split and revealed some cleavage when she addressed him

“Spike William Summers, you better have a damn good explanation for why you’re attempting to ruin our new anniversary tradition after we literally paid an arm and a leg and favours owed to Angel for the chance.”

“Our wha-? Owe Peach-? What did you just call me? Come again?” Spike’s mind was attempting to keep up with all the things that were wrong in that sentence at once.

Instead of answering, the glowering woman in front of him turned a mournful gaze towards the window and immediately her face was bathed in the warm light of the first sunrays making her hair shine golden and the tiny crowfeet at the outer side of her eyes soften and smooth out. Wait, crowfeet? Wrinkles? On the Slayer? She was some 18 or 19 years old, she didn’t have wrinkles!

“Slayer, you’re old!” spilled out of his mouth.

That brought her attention back to him in a snap and the sliver of amused confusion he didn’t explicitly notice before noticeably fell away now.

“Honey, what’s going on? You haven’t called me Slayer since you bugged me into retiring. You said you didn’t mind that Tara overshot the ageing spell a bit and you just made us both miss what would have been the second most happiest moment of our lives.“

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about? Only about the thing we’ve planned and waited for since we moved here!”

“Moved _where_? Slayer, you’re not making any sense, where’s that Watcher of yours at? He’s got to see that you’re off your rocker.”

The Slayer blinked at him and Spike saw that she really wasn’t old, she looked to be around his age when he was turned and the creases at the corners of her eyes were obviously from laughing and smiling because right now, there were none and her eyes were wide as if she just understood something.

“What date is it for you?” It was very quiet and if he’d had more sense, he’d have his alarm bells ringing at that tone. Instead, Spike pushed himself onto his elbows and arched an eyebrow.

“There’s only ever one date, pet, especially for people in the same room. It’s 30th November.”

The lines of her mouth hardened and she looked intently at him. He was sure she’d never looked at him so focussed before but he still understood without any more words that she was telling him to be more specific.

“1999, just a week ago you let some Indians make me a bloody pin cushion.”

Buffy closed her eyes briefly and then shook herself. She held out a hand to Spike and told him earnestly, “I promise, you won’t dust if you get up, the window is made from special glass.”

Not trusting her but also knowing her to be unable to lie her way out of a paper bag, Spike’s hand briefly shot up over the backrest of the couch and into the sun. He jerked it back immediately but it hadn’t burned. Still, he ignored the hand offered to him and got up, ready to drop as soon as the sun started to scorch him.

Buffy let out a resigned sigh but turned away from him and walked back around the couch to sit down. Spike only vaguely noticed. He was standing in the sunlight. Without the Gem. He felt the warmth of the sun seep into his bare chest and the panoramic window showed a beautiful view of a giant lake or bay with the sun rising in an amazing show of orange and gold. While Spike was mesmerized by it, Buffy watched Spike’s features soften in wonder much like she’d imagined it would happen. Only right now, when his face turned to her it didn’t display the adoration and love it usually did when he looked at her, instead he looked at her hard and flopped down on the other end of the couch which was big enough that another two people could comfortably sit between them.

When he opened his mouth to continue to demand answers, she held a hand up to stall him. “Let me think for a moment, please.” Buffy buried her face in her hands. She’d dared hope she’d been the only one spelled but apparently not. It looked like they would have to work it out. She had to keep him from freaking and-

“What did Red do? Did that threat she’s been hanging on snap after all? Wipe everyone’s mind, tried to turn back time, teleport everyone to an alternate world?”

Buffy had forgotten that Spike’s willingness to be patient and compliant was reserved for people he loved. Which currently didn’t include her. God, that hurt to even think. But what was he saying again?

“Red? Who’s Red?”

Spike stared at her “Who’s Red? Did the witch wipe herself off the world? Serves her right, magic always has a price.”

At the mention of magic, Buffy understood “You mean Vycress? Her name was Willow when we knew her but she became a vengeance demon.”

“A what now? Mighty jump from college girl to demon. Good on her. But what happened then?”

Buffy slouched back and let her head rest on the cushion staring at the ceiling and subconsciously leaving her neck bare and vulnerable to the Master Vampire’s eyes. Said vampire’s eyes were rooted to her neck. He expected to be somewhat starving, having been fed the bare minimum of pig blood for the last days but he wasn’t hungry, actually, he looked down at himself, he looked pretty well fed and buff.

Buffy spoke up, “Hey Cassian.” Spike’s head jerked around to find who she was greeting but he only heard a chime come from various directions in the room, no heartbeat, but the Slayer continued as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“What’s today’s date?”

“ _Today is the 21 st of March 2019._” Replied a voice from around the room.

“Who’s talking that nonsense-?”

“ _I have a message to play in case I am addressed today, would you like to hear it?_ ” the disembodied voice asked.

The Slayer frowned but answered “Yeah.”

“ _You silly bint, stop talking to the house, should only be talking to me or screaming my name today. Get onto that, won’t cha?_ ” Spike heard his own voice played back to him in a message that clearly was intended to be teasing. His jaw fell open.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the message but clearly couldn’t help a slightly wistful smile. “Save message to Buffy’s treasure box.”

“ _Message saved._ ” Replied the unknown voice again.

“Ok Swee- erm, Spike, as you heard, it’s 2019. Today is our 19th wedding anniversary, we always celebrate it on spring equinox, because you know, we each get half of the day. Anyway, we’re in Cleveland, in our home at Lake Erie, where we moved 3 years ago when you finally convinced me to retire as a Slayer because more than 20 years of duty were enough and you had other plans for me. We compromised and moved here because the Hellmouth below has been acting up for a while now, so now I get to keep an eye on it and we both get enough opportunities for a spot of violence.”

“Come off it! Married? Us? That’s just against nature, Slayer. And a Slayer can’t retire! Who’s gonna deal with the nasties? You’re having me on.” Spike had worked himself up into a rage and onto his feet, his demon face springing to the front. “Might be neutered but I can still make your life hell, so tell me what the bloody fuck is going on!”

Buffy briefly considered telling him that he wasn’t neutered and that they’d had his chip removed years ago but decided against it for now. She really didn’t want him to snack on the populace in a fit.

She held up her hands in a placating gesture, “Look Spike, I think you just lost a good 20 years’ worth of memories. Look around you, use that nose of yours. You live here and have for a while. Look at the pictures and oh-” she paused and smiled

“Hey Cassian.” The chime rang again, “Play Spike’s playlist.” As if in response, a guitar riff sounded through the house and Spike simultaneously relaxed and stiffened further when the Sex Pistols croaked their blessing on the Queen. Whatever had been going on here had apparently at least vaguely gotten his taste in music right.

“Who do you keep talking to?” he tried to find his footing, if what the Slayer said was right... he’d have to gather his wits.

“No one, the house has a digital assistant. You can trigger him by saying ‘Hey Cassian’ and then ask a question or have him do some stuff like turn on the coffee machine or something.”

“Digital assistant, right. You’ve lost your marbles.” Buffy just sat on the couch and motioned for him to look around.

Spike decided he didn’t really have a better idea and took a deep breath. Yeah, alright, this house oozed his and the Slayer’s scent in a very intimate mix. He smirked, apparently he’d taken the time to thoroughly christen this house as his. But then he shook his head, how could he have done this and not remember any of it?

He looked around the room and saw something flicker in the corner of his eye, he crouched expecting an attack but the Slayer just quietly explained, “It’s a photo frame, it changes the picture regularly. If you tap on the right half of the picture, it’ll show you the next one.”

He spotted a small picture frame that was as flat as a normal frame but without an actual frame just a full glass front. He walked over to it and looked at the picture. It showed his and the Slayer’s face, decked out in thick winter gear. He was smiling a broad, smug grin while the Slayer looked ready for murder. There appeared to be a tent in the background but mostly it looked like there was heavy snowfall.

Buffy’s voice came from the couch. “You’re still paying for that, Mister. ‘Vacation in Siberia is gonna be a marvel, pet. February is the time to go.’ You were so lucky you were already dead.”

In the next picture they were apparently still in Siberia but the Slayer’s eyes were wide in wonder as she looked up at beautiful, wavy blue and green streaks across the sky and Spike knew that was the reason he’d gone there. He always wanted to see the Northern Lights again. He couldn’t believe he had seen them again but forgotten. Well, if the Slayer’s story wasn’t a big load of codswallop.

Still, he looked at the picture and could almost feel the adoration that went into taking a picture of her instead of the spectacular sight of the night sky.

The picture changed and this time there was a group of people, some he knew, some he didn’t but all of them were smiling at him as he looked completely flabbergasted at a piece of paper, a discarded flat box with a ribbon at his feet.

He was about to ask about it when the picture changed, it was the same situation but this time he had a slender brunette in an obviously tight embrace. She was easily as tall as him but had wrapped her arms around his waist and curled into his chest. His own arms were wrapped around her shoulder and he was cradling her head against his throat with his nose in her hair, looking with decidedly watery eyes at the camera.

“It was the day we all surprised you with adoption papers for Dawn. Xander, Anya, Tara, Oz and Giles.” supplied the Slayer.

“Who’s Dawn?”

“Dawn would be your daughter now, my sister.”

Spike half turned to her but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the wonder he could see in his own eyes.

“You don’t have a sister,” he shot back.

Buffy’s eyes widened, had he not only lost his memory but been fully reset to before the monks had woven Dawn into her history?

Spike’s brows furrowed. “Wait, you have a sister. Why do I not remember you having a sister but remember her?”

The Slayer sighed and quirked a half smile. “Welcome to my world. She is a mystical key and kinda was retconned into my life by some monks trying to hide her from a bitch god about a year after you asked me to marry you. As a teenager and all. I also knew I didn’t have a sister at that time but I had memories of her. So had everyone else. It takes a while to settle, but it will just feel like it was always there after a while. Brains are funny like that.”

While she had talked, he had tapped through a few more group pictures, snapshots of parties until he abruptly stopped tapping when he came across what was clearly their wedding picture. He stared, what had possessed them?

His eyes darted to the woman still sitting on the couch to see if he could sneak a peek but saw he didn’t have to, she’d pulled her dressing gown to the side and was obviously displaying it for him to see.

_Spike_

His chosen name, boldly tattooed along her collar bone. “Tell me that comes off?” he asked somewhat weakly.

But Buffy shook her head. “It’s there to stay just as we promised we were, for each other.” Now she got up and walked towards him. Her hand raised slowly and she softly traced something along his collar bone, her name on his body he’d say if the picture didn’t lie. He felt his own hand reflexively rise and settle on her shoulder so his thumb could brush over his name on her skin and a smile tugged at his lips until he caught himself. The Slayer was his enemy! He’d only come to her as a last resort to prevent himself from starving.

Spike stepped back until they weren’t touching each other anymore and frowned, “What?”

Buffy let her hand sink and cocked her head. “We do this often, reflex I guess.” She blushed a bit, “Often being whenever one of us can see the tattoo of the other.” Then she smiled brightly at him, “And somehow whenever you get me something pretty to wear it’s always strapless or leaves the shoulders bare.”

Spike smirked, he could definitely see the appeal of a woman like the Slayer wearing his name on her skin, displayed for everyone to see. That reminded him.

“What did you loony chit call me? Summers?”

Buffy blinked quickly and grinned. Wow, he couldn’t remember ever seeing her smile at him and now she was doing it all the time, wide and open. What a gorgeous woman she was.

“Well, you refused to tell me your actual name at that time and I quote ‘the less of the ninny I once was is left, the better. I’ll wear the name of a Lady like your Mum and the best bloody Slayer ever with pride.’ Or, well something like that. You can look it up in the journal I made you promise to write in case you lost your mind.”

The vampire stared at her, clearing not believing. Also, that was an oddly specific promise to extract of him. She huffed, took his hand and dragged him after her. She called into the room. “Hey Cassian, turn off the music.” And the music turned off after a chime as she dragged him out through the second room again, a large dining room. They passed an open kitchen and were standing at the top of another flight of stairs. As she pulled him down the stairs, lights flickered on on their own and they were in a not very basement typical hallway.

The Slayer pointed to one door as said, “East wing, training room.” Before turning to the other which had a gaudy and ghoulishly grinning skull on the door and she rolled her eyes in amusement before reaching up onto the door frame, picking up a key and unlocking the door before saying in a pompous voice, “West wing, Willian the Bloody aka Spike – Slayer (and layer) of Slayers’ lair.”

Spike peeked into the room and immediately felt right at home. It was a wide but low room with what appeared to be scorched wood panelling on the walls. He spied a well-worn couch and a record player, shelves upon shelves of books and vinyl, a workshop corner which held an actual motorcycle, another shelf stuffed full of liquor bottles, both full and empty was situated next to a fridge of his height. It was a mess but one he instantly felt comfortable with.

“Why do we have giant black windows underground?”

Buffy looked at him quizzically until he pointed at the black glass rectangle. “Oh, it’s not a window, it’s a TV.”

“A telly? In that size? Stuff it.”

“You were born when light mostly came from actual frigging fire and before gramophones were invented, lived to see the invention of a computer, don’t bat an eye at motion activated LED lights but a flat screen TV is too much to imagine?” Buffy deadpanned.

“There are safes in some places but the super-secret journal is somewhere in the workshop, there was something said about not having nosey vampire guests sniff it out?” she didn’t sound too sure at the end but simply shrugged when nothing more came to mind.

“We have- No. Never mind Slayer, I’ll figure it out. Shoo, I need to think.” Spike was already closing the door between them but he saw her smile at him sadly.

“I’ll be in my pad, under the roof. I love you.” Spike froze briefly but then shut the door firmly. This was all too much. He went over to the fridge and opened it to find bagged blood, booze and beer haphazardly thrown in there. He grabbed a bottle of Jack and took deep drags from it. He closed the door, then his eyes and laid his forehead against the cool metal surface.

Either he was having the weirdest dream ever or lived the most abnormal unlife a vampire could ever imagine… he groaned, right, sounded like something he could cook up. Pulling another long swig from the bottle he ambled over to the workshop, eyeing the beautiful but half disassembled babe appreciatively before shaking his head to clear it from the distraction. He so hoped he’d written something useful for ‘in case you ever lose your mind’. What was up with that anyway?

Spike rifled half-heartedly through the clutter on the workbench before turning to lean against it and sweeping his eyes over the general mess. Where would he hide something like this? There was a cupboard that smelled somewhat nasty, if he wanted to keep people of all kind away from it, that would be the perfect place. Trouble was, he wasn’t keen on checking that out himself. He heard a low irregular thumping vibrate through the house, seemed like the Slayer wasn’t happy and was working her aggression out on something sturdy and attached to the house. Better not turn that frustration against him while he was nuzzled. He approached the cupboard and opened it, pinching his nose.

It held a bucket with some pink coloured goo that he feared might be Tzork’n blood and while his burning eyes watered even looking at it from 4 feet away, he bent down to pick it up and move it to the side. Lo and behold a small notebook was revealed. He snatched it up, threw the door closed again and retreated to the couch, his by now half empty bottle and notebook in hand.

Looking at the notebook he snorted, it was wafer-thin originally and the size of his palm, however apparently he’d thought of more things to add over the years and dozens of ripped up receipts, used envelopes and other papers had been stuck between the pages.

Opening the cover, he saw a note written in bold red marker:

_ABSOLUTELY NEVER EVER REPLACE HER HAIR STUFF WITH WOOD GLUE! NOT WORTH IT._

Spike grinned, he must’ve been exaggerating. Getting her worked up about her shampoo commercial hair must be such fun.

There were some random notes he couldn’t make heads or tails of.

 _Told Glinda I’d find her a decent fish to match her. Don’t go back on that word_.

 _The wolf owes me an original pressing of you know what for keeping my trap shut_.

_Buffy and Patron are un-mixy things, don’t get her drunk on it again, you cleaned puke out of your hair and duster for hours._

Apparently, the Slayer had given him notes to add too because that last one definitely wasn’t his handwriting.

He decided to skip on the rest of the nonsense notes for now and read from (hopefully) the beginning.

_The things I do for this woman. Love’s bitch and all that rot._

_Alright, let’s get one thing cleared up, I’ve just had the most whacky conversation with the Slayer I have ever had and that includes the ones we had high on shrooms. ‘In case you ever lose some time and somehow maybe happen to think it’s still 1999, I need you to write yourself some ‘splainy stuff down so you believe yourself that this is neither a dream nor a spell and not my fault either.’ Was a kicker start for a talk, mate. So, this is it. After the years we’ve just gone through I’m not sure if she’s telling me to do this because she lost her own bloody mind but still, promises. It’s our 4 th got-hitched-day this year and what a ride it has been. The goddess I married, mad as a hatter that one, she’s returned to me. I thought I’d lost her, bollixed it up somehow like I always do but she came back. Never letting her go again and if what it takes is telling myself the story of how I kinda just fell headfirst into the best bloody thing that ever happened to me, I will._

_Right, beginning would be good right now._

_I married her on 21 st March 2000 after less than half a year of engagement and asking her to marry me on the same day my eyes opened to the endless love I have for this woman (and the watcher turning blind and the boy turning into a demon magnet and the witch turning into a demon herself, eventful times, never boring with her in my life). I didn’t like her very much in the beginning, such an annoying wench she was but Dru was right, she’s everything I want to be covered in her, she’s my sun, she’s my warmth and in my blood and guts._

Spike blinked and took another swig, he’d asked her to marry him even though he didn’t like her and she agreed? How did they not see this was loony?

_There’s a box under the left side of the couch with stuff I nicked as mementos over the years but let me tell you that sneaky bint had the guts to cheat me out of getting her knickers on my wedding night. Had the gall to not wear any. Yeah, still sore about that._

_Anyway, we’re living the dream as good as we can - Joyce was a marvel as Mum in law, bloody tragedy that she died on us – while the demons of the world come flocking to try and eat the boy (He’s shaped up nicely by now. Can handle himself, lost two fingers and the hot air he kept spewing.) and the Watcher’s screws turning loose because he’s blind and his Slayer is all besotted with yours truly. He can see magic now, so that’s solved mostly._

_There we were, three years of a kickass missus that keeps you on your toes and shags you blind and then on our 2 nd anniversary _ _she flips her shit. Screams at me to get my paws off of her and runs like hell. Worst day of my unlife I thought. Couldn’t find her, she was just gone, none of our friends could tell me anything, only that she’d passed by them, raking them over the coals for letting me touch her. Got blind drunk after that, not sure how long… Bloody tough time, I still don’t know what happened, she hasn’t said anything yet but it doesn’t matter ‘cause she died._

_We’d been tussling with an actual bloody fallen god for a while already and they had taken the Nibblet and opened some kind of hell dimension portal and I watched my wife and life jump off a sodding tower to close it. It closed and her broken body lay before me, she’d left me without saying why but that can be fixed, you know? But there she lay, broken, pale, not a whisper of life, passion, power left in her shell. That can’t be fixed, I’d lost her._

_Pretty sure I cracked and went round the bend for a while, don’t remember much what I did aside from counting the days until the Nibblet stood in my door all roughed up, had gotten into the crossfire of Xander and the demons chasing him. I remembered that my wife still had family and cleaned up a bit. Helped keep the Bit and Scoobies safe. The hardest 147 days of my existence, grief never eased up for me until the stupid wanker boy and I were fighting the demon that was formerly Red and he made a bloody wish! ‘This is too hard without Buffy, if she were here, we could talk Wills down. I wish she was alive.’ Nearly killed the knobhead right there. As you probably noticed, my Slayer is alive. The wish took, of course, she was torn from heaven and woke up in her coffin. She was back. My wife, my love was alive again and it tore her up._

_Did the best I could to help her, got torn up right alongside her at her hands but I knew her, could comfort her, sometimes she let me. Sometimes she brought pictures or stuff and asked me about our first years of marriage as if she didn’t live them right alongside me but I told her and she listened._

_She listened and over time, she got better. She smiled at me again, briefly at first but as I waited, took care of her and stayed by her side, it turned longer. It was the longest and most painful sunrise I will ever see. My sun, my light and love, she rose and returned to me, came back to me to embrace and cover me again… and damn if I knew anything about what a wildcat she could be before that. Something in heaven unleashed her. Haven’t had a single day without a mark on me. Possessive little bint, as if her name wasn’t already branded into my skin, which by the way it’s not coming off. Called in that favour from Woodstock – the gal, not the time – it’s not going to fade, can’t burn it off, can’t scar, I’d dust in that shape._

_Today for the first time in two years she told me she loved me again and I’ll be leaving the scribbling for now because on the day I finally have her back, I’m not spending another sodding minute writing to a future me who might have lost his mind_.

Spike dropped the notebook and the remaining notes scattered across the floor but he didn’t see them. What had happened to him had happened to the Slayer, years back and she’d known it could happen to him as well. That bitch!

With only a light sway when he stood, , leaving the bottle behind, Spike barged out of the room. He stubbed his toe on the unfamiliar steps which only enraged him further and his demon visage slipped out.

By the time he was on what was presumably the last flight of stairs he was snarling and almost missed the Slayer’s voice, obviously talking to someone. Spike stilled and listened closely.

“…would do it if he wants to?” the bitch was asking someone.

And unfamiliar female voice answered. “Yes, Buffy sure I would. I can’t imagine how disoriented he must feel.”

Seeing as they were probably talking on the phone about him anyway, Spike kicked the door in. It flung open and revealed a very big room with slanted ceiling on both sides. One part was clearly some kind of exercise area but there was also a large vanity mirror, what looked to be an armoury and a bedraggled looking sofa facing one of the gigantic black glass panels the Slayer had claimed were tellys. The tart herself was curled up on the couch with what looked to be a smaller version of it but looked towards him as the door slammed against the wall.

“You knew! You knew I would forget at some point.” He stomped towards her and got right into her face.

“Eeep,” made the slim glass covered thing in her hands but the Slayer just looked at him earnestly.

“Don’t worry Tara, even if he decides he wants to murder me, I’m not helpless. And Spike, yes, I suspected, you technically knew too but also knew we couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Explain!” Spike barked at her.

Buffy sighed and exchanged a glance with Tara. Spike’s yellow eyes followed her gaze and the picture of the woman on the thing paled before waving and saying with a small smile “Hi Spike, ran out of shirts again?”

“I’m on the phone with Tara. You will not remember her but we’ve known her almost as long as we’re together, you like her and call her Glinda. She’s a witch.”

Spike nodded briefly when he recognized the name from one of the notes but then clenched his fists and bared his teeth at the Slayer.

“You blamed Willow for losing your memory, right? Well, you’re not wrong. The day you asked me to marry you, Giles went blind and Xander turned into a demon magnet, Willow had cast a spell so her will would be done. Neither you nor I believed it because, you know, we loved each other and were going to marry.” Buffy smiled a rueful smile.

“I met you before you were married,” Glinda supplied, “and you were so attached to each other while the rest of them were…” Her mouth turned into a lopsided smile, “… very vocal in their disapproval. Because of the constant stream of demons, we non-supernatural beings ended up too busy working together to keep each other alive to really worry about it in the end, while Buffy did most of the keeping alive and at the same time organised a beautiful midnight beach wedding-”

“And kicked you off of that chauvinistic power trip you were trying to ride on me,” the Slayer interjected smugly, before picking up the story. “Anyway, we met Tara when we were looking for someone who could help us lift the spell, because when Anya had that chat with D’Hoffryn, he told us that Willow had been incredibly hurt and angry and she immediately agreed to become a vengeance demon. You had said we could fix it with a general reversal spell but, well, nothing happened. We tried some more and then found Tara. She helped first by creating this thing around Xander that cancels his demon-y magneto thing for a while and then helped Giles work on his sight.”

“The spell Willow did was amazingly powerful. I never met her but she must have had incredible potential as a witch if this spell was what she could do powered by heartbreak alone,” Glinda added.

Spike scowled, “So what, everyone else got fixed but we got hitched anyway?”

“Spike, a Master Vampire and the Slayer decide to do something and feel madly in love with each other, who exactly are our friends going to get to ‘fix’ us if we don’t feel we need to be fixed?” Buffy deadpanned at him and Spike finally slid out of game face and dropped onto the couch, automatically falling sideways to put his head into the Slayer’s lap. Who in turn immediately started stroking his hair. For a brief moment, Spike had his eyes closed and relaxed into the contentment rising inside him. There was silence until a polite clearing of a throat by Tara jolted the vampire back into the here and now and he jerked upright and away from his enemy.

“Sorry, I just thought-”

“It’s ok Tara, I remember how the habits we’d already formed scared me half to death when it broke for me.”

“Yeah, Slayer what’s with that you apparently had this happen so much earlier?”

Buffy looked away from him, “I don’t know why but the spell broke on me on our 2nd anniversary and while we were… busy. I completely freaked and ran away. I don’t remember much but I told Tara and she’s since been working on figuring out how to work this when the spell breaks for you.”

“Why the bloody hell did you continue with this farce? Did you need a convenient pet? Can’t keep a man without magic? Had to stick it to one who was under a spell?” Spike was seething. Everyone knew he was under a spell but apparently no one was trying very hard to fix him.

“Honey- Spike,” Buffy amended quickly at his glare, “after I came back from the dead, you were always there and you took everything I hit you with both in words and violence. You told me about times when I was happy while still alive. You didn’t demand anything in return, you always knew what I needed and gave it to me. I couldn’t help it. I fell in love with you, for real this time and you wouldn’t hear of anything being wrong with you.”

Her hands were kneading each other in her lap and she was looking down.

“I knew it might happen that the spell would break on you too, the spell on Xander broke last year. At this point only Giles is still under the spell but I couldn’t do anything about it. What would you have done? I love you. You loved me. We were _happy_. We were already married. Would you have wanted both of us to live in misery until one day the spell might or might not break?”

She looked at him challengingly now.

“Yes, you stupid little bitch. You’ve deluded yourself for almost 20 years that this could _work_? You’re the Slayer, I’m a vampire, we KILL each other!”

There were tears in her eyes but she looked at him unwaveringly. “Yes, I believe it can work. Because I learned to love you without the spell, too. But, well, if you want to leave, you’re not trapped with me.”

“Buffy- ” the witch tried to intervene but the blonde just shook her head.

“He needs to know his options. He’s right. I lived in a dream. The dream was as good as real but now… I can only say that no matter how much I wanted, I never agreed to claim you.”

Spike hissed, he’d wanted to claim her? The Slayer? And she’d said _no_?

“What, felt too high and mighty to belong to a monster?”

“No, I mean, we’re married and I think for humans, for me, that means forever but if you want out, you can file for a divorce. There is no divorce for a claim. If I had agreed, you’d be trapped with me whether you still wanted to be with me when the spell broke or not. We fought a lot about that but I just couldn’t.”

“Some decency left in you then. So, who do I go to for that divorce?”

The tears she’d been keeping back, finally fell from Buffy’s lashes and she bowed her head. Spike could see her throat working to suppress any noise and something in his chest ached at seeing her cry.

The woman on the screen said quietly, “As far as I know, you would probably want to go to the same lawyers that created your identity to enable you to legally marry Buffy and adopt Dawnie. I guess you’d find them in the documentation.”

Buffy only nodded and rose, whispering, “I’ll get them,” and placed the frame she’d been holding down on the couch before leaving the room. When he heard her slow steps on the stairs he also heard her sobbing start. Desperate to distract himself from some unknown urge rising inside him, he picked up the thing which still held the face of the other woman.

She had light brown hair which was beginning to grey at the sides. She looked to be almost 40, and that niggled something in the back of his head but she spoke before he could catch it.

“Buffy already told you that I’ve worked on some things to help you should this happen. If you want to, I can bring over a spell that could help you unlock some memories from the last 20 years.” She looked down as if she’d failed, “I c-can’t bring back the feeling and I g-guess you wouldn’t w-w-want to anyway but some memories should come back.”

Spike arched an eyebrow, “What’s with the stuttering? Scared, little witch?”

Tara flinched but then squared her shoulders. “I’m upset and it comes back when I am.”

“What bee got in your bonnet? You in with the Slayer on this whole keeping me leashed and docile?” his tone was angry and unforgiving which put her quiet and gentle reply in all the more contrast.

“No Spike, no one wanted this spell to stay but I - I just wasn’t good enough, not strong enough to break it. And now because of that, Dawn will lose her Papa, Buffy will lose her husband of almost 20 years, the Scoobies and I our friend of just about as long. I can understand why you’re not even willing to try and see if you can like the people who love you but I think I still have plenty reason to be upset.”

Spike stilled at the mention of being a father who walks out without a glance then frowned and shook his head at himself. He was an evil vampire, he doesn’t give a whit about things like that.

“Shouldn’t have let it come to this. I’ll take the spell though, must have known something was up maybe I’ll remember something useful.”

The witch nodded but didn’t say anything else and his attention was drawn towards the sound of steps being climbed.

“These are the papers for our wedding. Even if you don’t care for them, please don’t damage them.” The Slayer stood there clutching a folder, her eyes puffy and red rimmed but dry.

“I’ll not spill any pig swill on the bloody papers, giv’em here.”

The Slayer stiffened, “Spike, there is something else I need to tell you.”

“What now? Have I been relegated to rats like Peaches?”

“No.” The Slayers face turned hard and she dropped the papers onto the couch. “Actually, you’ve been upgraded to Slayer blood and we’ve had your chip removed 13 years ago.”

“Chip? What do potatoes have to do with this now?”

Tara jumped in again, “You thought you were under a spell that kept you from attacking humans but it was technology. A microchip was implanted in your head. Drove me crazy that I couldn’t find the spell until Buffy interrogated that one soldier until he spilled.”

“Right, the commandos were doing these experiments. Evil scientist ladies, Frankenstein’s demon and all.” The Slayer waved it off like one would a thing that happened many years ago.

“After she’d fallen in love with you for real, Buffy secretly dug around and found a black market ring for demon organs and with it a surgeon. She kidnapped him and forced him to remove your chip,” Tara told him amusedly.

Buffy didn’t look amused but nodded and immediately added, “Now don’t you think you get to snack on the Cleveland people. If you need blood you get mine as always. I might not be the active Slayer anymore but I _will_ stop you from killing anyone.”

Spike gaped at her, his thoughts running a mile a minute. He was free. He was fed Slayer blood. The Slayer herself had unleashed him. He wanted proof.

“That so? Then I’m feeling peckish, I’ll take some of that Slayer blood now.”

“That is my cue to hang up. Buffy, I’ll pack and be in Cleveland as soon as I can. I need to wrap something up here so maybe in a couple of days? Spike can you wait that long?”

“Yeah, yeah, with Slayer blood available, I’ll survive.”

Buffy took the glass frame from him, “See you in a few days, Tara.” And pressed a red button that had appeared causing the image of the other woman to wink out. She tossed it onto the couch and turned to Spike.

“If you try to drain me, I will stop you.” And pulled a stake from somewhere but otherwise simply tilted her head to the side and brushed her hair over her shoulder showing him the same layering of scars he’d seen downstairs and now recognised. Those were his marks.

“Well, well, well, look at that.” He grinned nastily and crashed into her, sinking his teeth deep into her neck and almost choked on the ambrosia flooding his mouth when he heard the Slayer’s pain filled cry. He took a few deep drags anyway and then pulled back arching his neck back and roaring, “Mine!”

The pained gasping from the Slayer stopped and her mouth shut so hard, he heard her teeth click. In shock, his demon face fell away and with blood smeared lips his mouth fell open.

“What? No! I-” he stuttered.

“Lick the bite closed, idiot.” The Slayer hissed at him and he did, savouring the rest of the small stream of blood flowing out of her. Power surged through him but the shock of his unwitting attempt to claim her kept him grounded.

“You always try that when you feed. Another habit you’ll have to break. I told you we fight about this a lot.” Buffy pulled her hair forward to cover the fresh marks.

“How often do you feed me?”

“Whenever you want and sometimes you take a little more when we… you know.”

Spike dropped back onto the couch spreading his legs to try and ease the pressure on his uncomfortable hardness but then changed his mind. He was free, he could do something about that.

“I better go find someone to help me with that,” he grinned, until a powerful slap wiped the smile off his face.

“You are still married to _me_. You’re MY husband. I swear, if you go out and cheat on me I will chain you down until Tara comes here. The least you can do in return for not claiming you even though I want nothing more than have you belong to me and belong to you for 14 years is be faithful until we’re divorced.”

‘Possessive little bint’ Spike remembered his journal writing self call her, well he’d pegged her right. He leered at her. “Well what am I gonna do with all of this then?” He pumped his hips and framed the bulge in his jeans with his hands.

But instead of the scandalised, “You’re a pig, Spike,” he expected, he got an unimpressed look.

“Spike, we’re married. You want to have sex on our wedding anniversary? Whatever did you think we were planning to do all day?”

Now Spike was not known for being easy to unsettle with an offer of sex but the thought of going at it with the Slayer, his natural nemesis… Just no. He shook his head.

“Not going for the poofter’s sloppy seconds.” He relished in the flinch he saw from the corner of his eyes but also felt bad. Preposterous. He’d hurt her unnecessarily when taking her blood, while there’d been no trace of the bitchiness he remembered being ever present towards him but he was an evil vampire, there was no feeling bad for something like a bit of pain and rudeness in his nature.

“I guess that means daylight patrol.” The Slayer sighed and turned to leave

“Come on, you need at least a shirt and I need to change into gear.”

-:-

They went out for patrol through a door to the sewers in his lair. Spike noticed how his hand twitched to take hers but stuffed it into his duster pocket instead. He admired what a seamless team they were during the fight in a cramped underground vampire nest. At first, he’d balked at the idea of killing vampires at the side of the Slayer but as soon as they had set eyes on them, they’d attacked with vengeance, both of them equally. The Slayer said he was known to be her husband, friends had nothing to fear but everyone else knew final death had come a-calling when they turned up.

She dragged him into the deepest and darkest corners of the city to stir up some challenging trouble and Spike relished in the violence he could finally dish out again. He joked thoughtlessly with the fierce powerhouse fighting at his side and most of the time she’d quip back until either of them remembered that he was not the same as yesterday. At the end of the night his high from being able to dish out violence again had levelled out and he simply felt immensely satisfied.

Buffy told him to take the Master bedroom as it had the automated blinds and retreated up under the roof where he heard her cry pitifully while beating the crap out of whatever implement for training she had up there. The ache in his chest returned. Meanwhile his uncomfortable problem also returned and with a force as he lay ensconced in a scent that told him very clearly what usually happened in this bed, and often.

He got himself off twice before falling into an uneasy sleep.

When he woke up he felt alarmed, something was missing. His hands reached around for warmth and his ears listened for a heartbeat but nothing was there. When he was fully awake from the terror coursing through him, he scowled and fell back down into the pillows. He knew those behaviours, waking up alone and in worry, reaching for a hand when leaving somewhere. His body remembered being in love with her. Just his mind didn’t. As it should be, the thought alone was an abomination.

The sun had set a while ago and he listened for the quiet heartbeat he expected to hear from the Slayer but couldn’t find it. Spike got up and stepped into his jeans before looking around the room and then randomly opening drawers. He found a drawer of black and dark grey shirts soon enough. At least the chit hadn’t used the spell over him to dress him up in something printed or frilly.

The vampire left the bedroom and walked through the house opening any doors he came across, not caring whether the noise would wake the other occupant, but by the time he’d stuck his head in all the rooms on this floor he realised, he was alone in the house. Where would the allegedly ‘retired’ Slayer be during the night if not in her beddy-byes?

He searched the lower floor for a clue but didn’t find anything except a thermos in the middle of the counter which surprisingly held warm blood he immediately chugged. He decided to try asking the house.

“Hey Christian – No, not Christian, Cassian.” Nothing happened. “Hey Cassian.” A chime sounded. “Where’s the bloody Slayer?”

“ _I do not understand the question.”_

“Oh sodding-”

“ _I have a message to play in case I am addressed today, would you like to hear it?_ ”

“Huh? Yeah.”

The Slayer’s voice sounded from around the room “ _Hey Spike, I’ve gone to work a late shift for once. I’ll be back after midnight. If you’re hungry, I left you some blood on the kitchen island. If you leave, please leave a message or I’ll assume I have to hunt you down_.” That didn’t sound like a joke thankfully. _“The remote for the TV in my pad is on the couch table, the one for yours probably between the couch cushions or the bottles. Be safe. I love you._ ”

There was both a warm bloom and a cold shiver when he heard the three dreadful words he’d always craved but so rarely earned. And here was his natural enemy, showering him with them every chance she got. They sounded so sincere. Suddenly, it hit him.

She was in love with him.

The spell on her had broken years ago and all he had to do to earn her love was love her. She’d come back to him because he had been there for her and loved her.

She’d come back. Because his love was enough. The thought kept running in circles in his head.

There was a woman who hadn’t needed orphanages torn apart just so as a way to prove his devotion, he hadn’t needed to accept her ever non-existent fidelity. If he smelled and guessed right, she’s as fiercely faithful to him as she expected him to be. His head sunk into his hands. He’d been enough. Him and his love. He’d not had to take her to Paris, buy her shiny rocks or weave a swing from virgin’s entails.

He was going to get a migraine. How could fate be so cruel to let him experience what must have been the absolute and fundamental rocking of his world only to have that be caused by a spell and then make him forget?

The vampire stood and flitted into her room to fetch the papers he needed to find out who to call for the divorce and retreated to his lair. He snorted, he had a lair. His own space in a ridiculously posh house, separate sewer entrance and all.

That was not how he imagined the Slayer keeping a pet vampire. He was under no illusions, if he was in love with her – spell or not – he would have agreed to almost everything to make her happy. Would have turned himself inside out and bend over backwards if she just asked. Everything around him told him that she hadn’t kept him as a pet, that she really loved him. She’d indulged him and went with him to Siberia for heaven’s sake. He tossed the papers onto the couch and flopped to the floor in the middle of the scattered notes, picking a random one up to read.

_Tried to hire a witch today to make the stubborn woman agree to let me claim her. Bint refused and told me I’m under a spell she can’t break. Humbug. That one was so strong I felt her down the street. Witch was more afraid of the Slayer than me, nothing else._

_I **know** that Buffy’s the one I want, forever. She’s mine. I know it, she knows it, tells me whenever I can keep my fangs out of her. I married her for Pete’s sake, danced to ‘Wind beneath my wings’ for that gal. Figure out why she won’t do this for me, won’t you? Ta._

Spike stared at the note on the backside of a carefully peeled label of a whiskey bottle. He turned it around, good stuff as well. Confirmation in his own writing, having been told he was under a spell by probably the most notorious witch he could find in the city who also couldn’t break it. That spell must have been so twisted. The opposing reactions of his mind and body drove him nuts. He’d always trusted his instincts and now his instincts were shot.

Idly, he picked up another note, this one on an actual piece of paper but so shaky it was barely legible.

_I’m free._

With a huff he tossed it aside and picked up another one

_I sodding hate the bloody Slayer! She’s going to make me wear a sodding suit! As if the Bit would care if I give her away while wearing the duster._

_At least I got the tosser she’s going to marry alone for a full half an hour to let him know just how he’s to treat my Nibblet or face me. Could smell his fear but he didn’t crack. Still say the Slayer only managed to make him wet himself because I’d already softened him up._

He’d hoped to find a clue that he’d known he was under a spell and was fighting it but sod it all. He _had_ known and still not cared. But he cared now, didn’t he?

What was he angry about?

That he’d been under a spell? Sounds like everyone else along with him had been and didn’t have a choice about that.

That he’d been made to love the Slayer? Aside from her killing his kind, and him killing hers, she certainly was a looker. If he’d _had_ to end up with a human, at least she was one he didn’t need to handle with care in fear of breaking her.

Was he angry that he didn’t have a choice? Yeah, definitely but he was free to choose now.

Spike pulled the folder with the wedding documents over and found that it wasn’t a folder. It was a binder with a deep burgundy leather cover embossed with ‘Family book’ at the top, a simple crest in the middle with ‘Summers’ written below. A crescent moon that looked oddly asymmetrical and more like a fang on one side half-encircled an old-fashioned key in the middle with a stake on the other side on a shield in the shape of a drop of blood.

He carefully opened it and found a birth certificate for Spike William Bloody, born in the (smudged) year of 1980 which could just as well pass for 1880, followed by Buffy’s and then Dawn’s. A marriage licence was next with a clearly legible stamp of a law firm as witness. There, he had the information he needed to get himself out of the Slayer’s clutches. At least legally, which he knew didn’t apply to him anyway, but it _meant_ something to him to have a wife and be a husband. He decided to leave that be for now and flipped to the next page.

On the next page was a second-parent adoption certificate proclaiming one Dawn Summers to be official stepdaughter to Spike William Summers. Stamped by the same firm as the marriage papers.

The next one was a copy of the marriage licence for said step daughter of his.

He flipped to the next page and saw some kind of law enforcement diploma in Buffy’s name, then the deed for the house he assumed they were living in and the deed for the house in Sunnydale.

He had a family book and a family and a woman who loved him and no memory of wanting any of that. What the bloody hell was he going to do now?

Well, for the next few days he’d bide his time. Even though his hope in getting memories of himself fighting against the thought of being married to the Slayer had all but evaporated, he still wanted his memories restored as much as possible. With Slayer blood on tap, he’d manage, he could just hunker down here in his lair and only come into the Slayer’s vicinity when he felt peckish. Plan made, he got up to lock his door when he heard a door being unlocked above, followed by the Slayer calling

“Spike, I’m home. Come on up, they’re still hot and I brought you a prezzie.”

Spike felt his stomach clench as if it wanted to growl and he stared down at himself in disbelief before sighing and deciding to check out what barmy thing the Slayer had come up with now.

When he entered the kitchen, the Slayer turned to him smiling widely and his breath caught, calling her a looker really didn’t do her justice, her unmistakeable happiness at seeing him was quite literally breath-taking. When he drew a breath after all a delicious scent entered his nose.

“Are those-?”

Buffy grinned at him, “Friday Midnight Special hot wings level 7? Yep.” She visibly caught herself from leaning towards him and her smile dimmed a bit but then she shook her head and smiled at him softly.

“We have hot wings and C-Movie night on Fridays. It’s _Horror Rises from the Tomb_ today but I guess you don’t remember picking that, so if you’d like to watch something else…”

“Never heard of it. Sounds like a terrible choice. I’m in.” Spike heard himself say and then groaned, what was it with him and this chit ruining his perfect plans? He consoled himself with adding, “You said something about presents?”

An actual blush crept over the Slayer’s face in addition to a mischievous smile. She turned and rummaged through her giant purse.

Spike appreciated her wiggling bum before he caught himself and busied his hands with the big paper bag smelling like heavenly spicy chicken, pulling some containers labelled ‘lvl 3’ and a few more labelled ‘lvl 7’ out until a triumphant cry told him his present had turned up.

In her hand the Slayer held a bundle of what appeared to be polaroid pictures. Hadn’t those vanished off the market even before he lost his memory?

“Whassat?”

“Um, after work I made a quick round to some friends of ours.” She wrinkled her nose. “And some of yours and took pictures of them, wrote their name and addresses on the back if you want to go visit them. I told the less shady ones about the memory loss and they wrote some stuff on there, too.” She held out the bundle again and the vampire took them and glanced at them before hissing. Those were pictures of demons.

“Our friends are demons?”

The Slayer shrugged. “Yeah, we needed a lot of help and got to know some pretty well. You know being married to one, made me a bit more with the flexible, morally speaking. Yoga for the rest.” She winked at him and grabbed the containers with the 3 on them before almost skipping to the living room.

Spike stuffed the pictures into his pocket to be inspected later, took his batch of wings and joined her on the couch. The big black window was indeed a telly and the images were almost as sharp as reality aside from the fact that they were black and white.

The night turned into morning and surprisingly, he relished in the almost painful hotness of the wings, the terrible movie and unbelievable domesticity of a night in with the Slayer. They snarked in unison at some scenes of the movie and giggled together over jokes they made. About half an hour before the sun rose, the house appeared to come alive with electric noises and Spike jolted in surprise.

“It’s just Cassian closing the blinds.” The Slayer supplied and then stretched. “I better get to bed, I have an afternoon shift today. I’ll be back shortly after sunset.” She stood and before she walked up the stairs turned back to face Spike.

“Thank you, for giving me a chance today.” She smiled at him again but he saw her grip on the banister tighten and her chin wobble before she fled up the stairs.

Spike sprawled out on the sofa. He hadn’t wanted to give her a chance, wanted to hate her for being who she was, for costing him his dark princess, playing family with his spelled self for two decades. But somehow, as he pulled the pictures of vampires and demons out of his pocket again, he already knew, filing those divorce papers would not happen anytime soon.

He looked through the pictures and found one of a vampire he immediately felt a surge of protectiveness for. On the back of the picture the name _Ari_ was written along with a cemetery name and in what appeared to be broken Fyarl, “ _Follow your guts, not clean how it came to be but still true._ ”

Spike groaned, his gut had told him all night to wrap his arms around the Slayer and pull her into his chest. His head had agreed and conjured technicolour images of her drained body draped across him. His heart had ached at her aborted gestures to touch him and yearned to see her smile at him again. He was a mess.

It looked like that Ari guy was someone his instincts were telling him was a good one, he needed to be away from the mess the Slayer made his head and body and this guy had just won a couch companion for a while.

The vampire considered just leaving but his feet had carried him to her pad and his hand was already raised to knock. So close to the door he could hear her breathing hitching as she forcefully took deep measured breaths. He knocked gently and heard her heartrate pick up.

“Come in, Spike,” she called.

“Slayer, I’m gonna go visit that Ari chap for a few days, no need to call in the cavalry.”

An expression that was somewhat stuck between relieved and sad crossed her face before she stood and walked over to stand in front of him, visibly restraining herself from coming any closer.

“I’ll drop off some blood when I go to work, ok? Please, Spike, no snacking on the locals?”

Spike couldn’t help himself and he closed the distance, raising a hand to cup her cheek. Buffy’s eyes filled with tears even as a content smile bloomed on her face and she closed her eyes and leaned unabashedly into his touch. She felt so warm and soft…

“I promise.” He meant it, he somehow knew he wouldn’t betray her trust and added, “Won’t get frisky with other birds or blokes either, I’ll come back to you. Just need to sort my head out.”

The unabashed hope he saw rise in her eyes before she closed them and simply smiled at him almost convinced him he didn’t really need to leave. The Slayer covered his hand on her face with her own and briefly nuzzled his palm before gently taking his hand and laying it on her collarbone where he knew his name to be written on her skin and laid her other hand on the respective spot on his collarbone.

“Thank you. I love you. I’ll wait for you,” she said, before taking a step back and releasing him.

Spike turned and walked away from her, already knowing he would return and likely stay for the rest of time as they’d know it.


End file.
